


the eye of a little god, four cornered

by orphan_account



Series: departure [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Injury Recovery, M/M, Permanent Injury, Post-Canon, Road Trips, author's relationship status with atsumu miya: it's complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You are not your own Achille's heel, he is."Your father." Shouyou begins. Atsumu fiddles with the broken compartment storing old mail and junk, overly captivated to listen to the sound plastic slapping the exterior of the drawer. "You never mention him.""Have I not?""Never. Not even I asked you about Hyogo. There's someone worth waiting for there, your mother. But not your father."
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: departure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671361
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	the eye of a little god, four cornered

**Author's Note:**

> *Arnold Schwarzenegger voice* I am back. And with a 12k fic at my disposable. Not much to say, cw: implied sexual content, injury, cussing, religious references, philosophizing. i think. and the clowning of atsumu miya, 
> 
> Highly suggest you read the first two fics for more of an understanding.. but can be read as a stand-alone 
> 
> and with that. enjoy.

Would if one day, God arrived in front of your doorstep and offered you two tickets to a carnival of boundless anguish. You will buy pink cotton candy that melts into your mouth and wait in line for the carousel of endless and expandable possibilities. Atsumu may be able to conquer and tug each individual thread of the player's arsenal of capabilities and strengths, but even he has to wait for good luck to perform a strip tease and then he’ll get a call from Osamu the non-meteorologist that it’s raining sparkly rainbows meatballs. 

Fortunately for Atsumu, the strip tease arrives in a blue care package with disjointed bones and a crooked walking cane. But you are not informed of this, not yet, that gift emerses and shys itself due to his frail and meek state that overshadows the beauty of coherence. Coherence is incapable of forming chalked up sentences, and Atsumu has no other choice but to reach out and extend an offering hand. 

Atsumu arrives home to their two bedroom apartment on the high rise overlooking Yoyogi Park from the fifth floor in humble condition, the wooden panels of the entryway creek their spitting words of welcome and Atsumu slides his shoes off in return. 

Atsumu comes to terms with the realization that there's another person. No, another thing in the room. It's furry and all he can think is oh shit, Shouyou has turned into an orange cat. Is this like one of the corny Disney princess movies that Bokuto coerced him into watching with him, should he kiss the cat and then it'll magically become a naked Shouyou standing in the middle of their living room? Or does he need to call Bokuto to perform a seance and then spread ashes of his dead great-grandmother across the floor? But then there's the saving grace of Shouyou's voice coming from the kitchen and his throat drops to the floor, or was that his sternum?

"I'm in here." his voice rings out, it's soft like tissue paper, his voice would be the new entity wrapped in liquid gold and harvest the sun. STOP. You're thinking ahead, get a hold of yourself. One step at a time, that's what you will tell yourself to relieve the nightmares and christening demons that wish to break into your bedroom door.

Shouyou appears to be rummaging around the kitchen cabinets, shuffling around the space for something. "There's a cat—there's a cat in our living room." He's tripping on his words, trying to make sense of the situation. Shouyou whips around, and makes an annoyed clicking noise with his tongue. Wedged between his hands is a bowl, as he stutters around the kitchen to the sink to fill it with tap water.

His eyes dance in correlation with the rippling water, that's murky, and definitely unsanitary, "that's right, his name is Hazel, I found him on the streets."

Atsumu goes back and forth between 'Hazel' which is the worst fucking name in the world, literally what the hell Shouyou, you can do better than that. And the prospering, notable fact that:

  1. Atsumu has been dating Hinata Shouyou for two months.
  2. He has not mentioned to his said significant other(Atsumu) who has without informing Atsumu brought a stray animal who devastatingly wears the embodiment of Sakusa's sempiternal frown and Bokuto's arching caterpillar eyebrows and took a dump with Shouyou in cheeto dust.
  3. Hinata Shouyou did not mention he would be bringing anyone home, or anyone worth mentioning.



Those were three facts. 

Shouyou sets the bowl in front of Hazel who's orange tuff of a tail straightens in narration at his returning presence. Atsumu does not want a pet, another mouth to feed, Bokuto is already enough.

"There's no fuckin' way we're keepin' that." He announces.

*

So. They keep the cat.

Atsumu isn't happy, whereas Shouyou is ecstatic to have a new member of the family. Atsumu is not. Atsumu also discovers that along with pickles, he appears to be allergic to cats. Fucking fantastic. When he's sneezing all over the apartment, carrying a roll of sharmin ultra strong toilet because he and Shouyou haven't gone grocery shopping in weeks, Shouyou with his rigged, stunning smile and Hazel in his arms, the words seems at large and allergies aren't that terrible.

The next day when it's one of those mornings, his lungs collapsed from the sky and a cloudy chance of meatballs. The next day when it's one of those mornings, his lungs collapse from the sky and a cloudy chance of meatballs becomes more possible every passing moment. It's one of those mornings where his lungs collapse from the sky and Atsumu does not easily get out of bed. His shoulder will bring him unspeakable pain right outside of his bedroom door, agony is a ribbon that rips apart to shreds, the scapula will grow wings and free itself out of Atsumu's skin. Agony crosses centuries and a split moment when your humerus shatters over and over again. The clavicle meets you outside on the edge of the orange court and requests a favor.

It's in the next moment that matters the most. The burden collapses, just like your lungs, onto your shoulders. How ironic indeed.

You will crawl out of your bed to breathe in the humidity, which freely scratches your skin until there's only you. And Shouyou. Atsumu finds his prescription bottle behind the surgery pamphlets aided by his doctor. Disregarding both, the anti-inflammatory drugs will not settle into his stomach. You will never settle. You will never know peace.

Hazel rests at the foot of the bed, purring away and greedily chomping on the chew toy that Shouyou bought for him. Fucking rascal. "Scram," he whispers, but his voice does not produce the maximizing effect of a threat as he originally hoped and his chubby head pokes out of the blanket. He receives a mewl, cocking his head towards his direction. The cat is definitely mocking him. What the fuck is going on.

"You're finally awake." Shouyou greets him from the edge of the room. And oh god, it's morning like these when his lungs collapse from the sky and his shoulder wheezes like an old man and his last dying breath that Atsumu wishes time would freeze. If time were to freeze, he could go back, preventing the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He would be a World War hero, get married to a petite woman around his age and retire. He could live in a farm house on the outskirts of Hyogo prefecture. Perhaps his father would still be alive.

Atsumu settles for a coarse laughter that stirs his shoulder and he does not wince. You will remain strong. For Shouyou. Right? "G'mornin'. Did I mention that how I believe Hazel is the reincarnation of my late grandmother?"

The corner of his eyes wrinkle in sincerity and most likely fondly as well. "because they're both compassionate and strong?"

"Fuck no, they both smell like tuna fish."

That gets a swift delivery to the shoulder, it's a playful gesture but Atsumu's shoulder throws up grief and whines like a siren. But unfortunately his emotions have a terrible habit of expressing themselves. He must display the only raging emotion ransacking up and down his limbs. Remember perseverance.

Shouyou's mouth gently folds in an asymmetrical line of curiosity. He was born with curiosity, curiosity nurtured itself on his strong shoulders. Unlike Atsumu, who's shoulders can barely hold the weight of a burden. In all fruitful applications, Shouyou's asymmetrical personality, appearance is the Olympic torch that carries itself to the Panathenian stadium in Athens. Helios. Shouyou. You have already been informally introduced the day you dared and leered to provoke the sun.

He frowns, his non-sempiternal frown dabs on the opening wound on Atsumu's back as he asks, "Is it your shoulder?" No.

Yes. "Where's your medication?" Shouyou cannot revoke the damage that's been done. Shouyou does not blame himself, however, Atsumu does. Atsumu carefully crafts an undetermined laugh, undetermined because he isn't sure what to thoughtfully ponder of the situation.

"Somewhere in my drawer, don't get it out yet." Why? 

Atsumu can lie, not very good but a forgable amount of credibility that Shouyou won't question his intentions. Shouyou has enough of his bullshit.

So has he. "Atsumu, stop being irresponsible. You're an adult, not a child, starting acting like one."

Atsumu brushes his greasy hair away from his eyes, to capture how damn magnetic Shouyou looks while reprimanding him. He dampers his eyes, excruciating pain spreading from his shoulders. "Come here." And Shouyou fits neatly between his legs as Atsumu tugs him closer. "yer quite kind for thinking I'm a child, Shouyou-kun." he whispers. Shouyou rolls his eyes.

The pain still lingers, maybe kiss it better he asks. Shouyou drags him to the bathroom, where he ultimately tosses his shirt aside, claiming he smelled and demanded that he take a shower. But does a shower come with Shouyou? And an extra guest with established visitation rights of torment? Definitely not.

He pins Shouyou against the wall and fucks him until the water gets too hot and his skin begins to scream. The rest is history, it's the moment that becomes sacred. No. You're wrong.

*

The doctor's office smells like Clorox wipes that took a spin in a Ferrari and decided that the joyride wasn't sufficient enough so it took a bath in lavender. You see, lavender sticks to you. It's the only substantial worth that causes your nose to fall off and has you scrambling to pick it up. You're also mildly allergic to lavender, so yay.

Atsumu hates waiting. That can be proven in the astronomical discovery of the planet. Only, the doctor's office cannot vouch for his irritation in the constant beep of the overhead speakers. It occurs every 10.5 seconds, the waiting room is full, he is surrounded by three other patients all waiting in the drowning possibility as him. There's an older man on his left cradling a cigarette pack that the nurse on the registration shift who politely asked him to put them away. An elderly woman knits herself a budding scarf.

The office is silent. Desperately quiet, that the methodical synchronization of the nurse at the registration desks typing on the keyboard begins to cognate in his brain. He would like to kindly throw the keyboard across the room in order to hinder the throbbing pain in his temple. Then, he thinks of the piece of paper in his hand, realizes, _remembers_ why he's here in the first place. Deep down, somewhere in the cracked, fragmented soul of his, Atsumu is well-aware. Shouyou is not. He has not caught up to the world yet, and the world affectionately holds him down with a careful tuck of his hair and wishes him good-bye.

Shouyou is asleep, as always, except this time he's not sleeping in the make-shift guest room that Atsumu has scrambled to put together when he came knocking on his door in the middle of the night. Shouyou has also not yet provided an explanation for that incident, rather it's an unspoken occurrence that Atsumu stripes away from the lining between the moon and the weight of his shoulders. IF and when you sew together the rough and chapped lips together then perhaps silence will truly bestow and resentment will finally settle.

He will think of Hinata Shouyou. If and WHEN the thought hits him, he will conclude towards the fact that Hinata Shouyou is unreachable. Well, he is. Because he's been right here in Atsumu's arms for years but you must understand that Shouyou does not dwell in one reservation for a long time he becomes a nomad, moving from place to place to find comfort and attenuate the fact that Hinata Shouyou does belong anywhere. He will never fit in, he will stand out from the rest and Atsumu, will drive himself mad.

Isn't it maddening already? Not knowing IF and WHEN Hinata Shouyou's feet will lift up from the sky and he will not take flight but gradually float up to the sky.

"Atsumu Miya. We're ready for you."

There's no going back.

*

"Lemme ask you again, what the hell are we doing at the pet store?"

Shouyou shrugs a hefty and rather ambiguous hand and flicks in a meticulous manner. Clearly he has no ambitions in seeking the answer for himself nor Atsumu. The pet store on the corner of their street which he didn't even know existed until Shouyou dragged him out of their apartment on this fine rainy Saturday in the middle of the fucking day when he was talking the weekend off.

Get out of the house and get some vitamin D, it'll be good for your skin to get some exposure to the sun. But why would I do that when I have you. He asks. No reply. That's what happens when your inside thoughts pensively purchase the two tickets from God and take a spin on the Mad Hatter party tea cups at Disneyland. 

Shouyou lethargically picks up a bag from the cat food aisle, flips the back to inspect the price and snorts before throwing it back on the shelves. "isn't it obvious Atsumu, we're here to buy food for Hazel." The way his voice coils and wraps around Atsumu's throat like a python is absolutely devastatingly attractive.

"Can't we just feed the thing some tuna fish and be done with it?" Shouyou throws a glance that crosses between 'are you serious' and 'one more word and no sex for a week'. The latter seems to grow more possible and he decides to shut up. It's in his best interest and for Shouyou.

Searching around the shelves for a minute, Shouyou scrunches his nose after sniffing the cropped round can in his hand, "the 'thing' has a name, stop being petty and help me find some food for Hazel."

Like he said, it was in his best interest.

"So. The doctor's appointment was yesterday." He starts. Shouyou will not freeze, he will flourish in the slight warmth of his cheeks that pinken in the afternoon sun. But Shouyou's hand tenses while reaching out for the bag of kitten kibbles that probably taste like shit to Atsumu but pure heaven to Hazel.

Then just like that, time unfreezes.

Shouyou will fall from heaven like an angel casted out, wings torn and shredded to pieces and Atsumu will catch him into his waiting arms. It's the perfect setting, but not the perfect picture. Time unfreezes but you will not. You will stay in the repetitive nature of the universe, God will stare down at you and wish you never existed. Then you wish that the pain in your shoulder never existed. Touche.

Shouyou squats down to heave the largest bag of Blue Buffalo Cat food and shoots it underneath the shopping cart Atsumu had picked up when they first entered the store. "What'd they say?"

"Nothing too important, just that I needa keep taking my prescribed medications. Stopped listenin' after a while." He cracks a smile, full of teeth and seeping singularity.

"Atsumu."

Once more. "Shouyou."

"This is serious." Shouyou insists, and Atsumu dwells on the dimple on the left cheek and feels the strong urge to poke at his face to confirm he's real. He doesn't end up doing that, just so you know. But he really wanted to. "Yer right. I am being completely serious." Atsumu promises, leaning his elbow on the shopping cart.

Shouyou sighs heavily. And the smile only stretches across vast lands even more. He bumps not his shoulder but his hand and Shouyou seems unreachable.

How much longer will this last? Before reality comes crashing down and it's over. Not for too long God replies and Atsumu wants to chuck the nearest cat chew toy in his vicinity. He doesn't, by the way. But he really, really, wants to.

*

He gets a call, two days later, while waiting for Shouyou outside the sports complex as he's scrolling through twitter, getting a good laugh at memes on his feed. Atsumu picks up the incoming call immediately, having been from his brother Osamu.

"'Samu, it's been a while." He greets and Osamu gives a wide, rambunctious snort. 

Osamu snickers, "don't be so melodramatic, I literally spoke to yer dumb face two days ago." Atsumu's lip curls in laughable defeat, what an asshat. 

"It's rare for my baby brother to call me without reason, how's the shop treatin ya? Done selling mediocre onigiri to the country bumpkins and back to torment me some more?" Atsumu asks, and defensible to his statement, customer voices grow loud in the background. 

The cold-cut(yes that's precisely how Atsumu describes it) grin reeks from the other line but he knows Osamu has another agenda on his mind besides reminding him of his thriving, bustling shop, his engagement, and that he's the golden child between the two of them.

"We've decided the wedding date."

Atsumu's phone almost drops from his hand and splits into thousands, irreplaceable pieces. "What."

"Yeah, it's gonna be a small wedding, nothin' too big." You can hear the anxiousness in his voice as he bumps over the word 'wedding'. Stupid kid.

"When's it gonna be?"

"In a month. Mom wants to have it before Dad's anniversary."

Ah. That makes more sense.

Osamu's voice begins to become a blur, then the pain sets in. But before it begins, he interrupts Atsumu. "It's gonna be in Hyogo, I know ya probably want nothin' to do with the place, but it was--"

"I'll be there." and then he feels the need to add, "wouldn't wanna miss your big day for the world." that part he says in his head. He'd rather stick a needle in his eye and drink bleach from Sakusa's cabinet then give him the bullshit excuse of endearment.

Osamu exhales, and then says, trouble surfacing his words. "And ya can bring Shouyou-kun, Mom’s been asking when yer gonna bring home that boy you’ve been talking’ about so much.”

Shouyou. That's right, his mother. There's an assortment of problems that slot themselves perfectly into the crisis. Atsumu has yet to introduce Shouyou to his mother, introduce him as his boyfriend. He could only imagine the heart attack it would cause her despite the forewarning over email when he originally told her. And he doesn't know what Shouyou would think, or do.

But then again, it's the only opportunity he'll ever get. "I know, 'Samu. I gotta ask Shouyou about it first."

"Don't tell me yer scared." Osamu's snort ripples through the call, ugly and all-knowing. Absolutely disgusting. 

Well are you? Scared? Shouyou asks him. With eyes of innocence and ghostly appearance, Atsumu swallows. It's not easy as you think he replies. "I'm not. It's complicated."

Osamu likes to roll his eyes until his eyelids are doing a tango on the dance floor, and he rolls his eyes, if he was here right now then he'd probably smother Atsumu to death.

"Yer being obnoxious, get over yerself already."

"Stop being an ass."

"Stop acting like one then, and quite the dramatics, yer an adult." Believe it or not you're not the first one to tell me that. Act like an adult. "Anyway, customers are pilin' up, I gotta go."

You are left in the dust, dust swamping your nose and dirt asphyxiates your lungs. Will they collapse? Stay tuned to find out.

"Hey 'Samu?"

An exalted breath of air, is the world on heroin or is that Atsumu. Maybe he should quit volleyball and start a drug cartel.

"Nevermind, talk to you later." Traces of 'weirdo' linger as he hangs up. 

Atsumu considers starting a drug cartel. End of story. Except wait a minute, the stories not over.

*

Atsumu's story is just beginning.

*

As far as the week goes, Atsumu becomes pretty compliant. He follows his doctor's order, eats the nutrients and the healthy regiment his trainer prescribes. Practice continues, his shoulder continues to trouble him and until one day it stops. When he's clutching his shoulder in searing pain a week later in the locker room. He's alone, able to lay his woos and scream in the shower without having anyone listen to him belt out 'twinkle, twinkle little star'. Too bad for his teammates, he's actually a decent singer.

It occurs after practice, while they're practicing diving drills, and he follows suit. When his right shoulder dips into the hard flooring of the gymnasium he spasms.

But you laugh it off when Bokuto stumbles in your direction and persuades him into believing that it's a cramp. Luckily for you, he's extremely gullible. You are constantly pulling the strings behind the scenes, tugging on the strings like a puppeteer, swaying the audience in residential fascination. It's not all about you.

Except it is. Right there the universe pulls the string under your feet and you're falling from the sky until a stake penetrates your heart and you instantly die. The stake is Shouyou, staring at you from above. God laughs at you. You cannot bring yourself to laugh back.

Atsumu's nine lives have been confined to living on the edge, every ache that convulses through his stomach and up his trachea, one life is redacted.

He's sitting in the locker room shower, only pain and the lonely shower walls surround him and suddenly he wishes he didn't exist.

*

Introducing Akaashi (the boyfriend) not his thankfully, but Bokuto's boyfriend. His forsaken qualms of devastation and jealousy are listless, but those are in the past. Akaashi is tolerable, though he does irritate him with the whole psychic bullshit and constantly knowing what the fuck is going on with Atsumu.

Here's the thing about Akaashi, not only is he the one and only boyfriend of Bokuto Koutarou, the unextraordinary ace of the MSBY Black Jackals. He is also an editor for a shounen manga, which is a career path he would've never imagined for him. Shounen manga is a job for soft-spoken girls with square-rimmed glasses and who ask if you need more creamer in your double-shot espresso with an extra bump of dolce.

Akaashi is a lot of things, not occupying his mind, but sticking his nose in Atsumu's business. He's terribly intuitive, probably coming from the few years spent with the guy who lays his emotions on the dinner table. Akaashi is the opposite. He sits on the silver lining of being a heartless bitch, if it wasn't for Bokuto. But don't tell either of them that he said that.

"Thanks fer' meeting me here."

Akaashi sits in front of him, bundled up in his winter trench coat and cashmere sweater, hands folded together primily and properly. They weren't at a french eatery in the middle of Paris right next to the Eiffel tower for christ sake. He elegantly folds himself, crossing his legs together as he gets a good glance at Atsumu. He feels the eminence power of judgement from across the room.

Akaashi takes a sip of his hot chocolate, "You bribed me. With caffeine."

“I did.” Then he waves at the nasty beverage he’s currently drinking, “but ya ordered hot chocolate instead. Something wrong ‘Kaashi-san?” 

Akaashi fixes the rim of his square-box fitted glasses, which laid slightly skewed across his face. A grin extends its hands to him and he politely declines. “There’s too much caffeine in my system already, I need a change of pace.” 

Then he looks directly at Atsumu for some very unknown reason (though some part inside of him knew the reason). But you know the reason don’t you, when he said that. It’s just buried deep inside you and you will need to search in order to find it. 

But time hasn't been very gracious these days. 

“Did Bokuto tell you, about the whole shoulder thing.” 

Akaashi takes another graceful sip, while Atsumu’s cup of lemon tea grows cold. But his eyes avert, ah. He knows already. Atsumu succumbs to the final blow. Liar, then why are you still here. “He did not.” 

Atsumu takes his sweet time to stir his very cold tea, which by the way tastes like crap. He didn’t have time on his side, and time didn’t have him on its side. He’s walked into a crossfire without realizing it. 

Atsumu timidly takes a sip, revolting. “But you already knew, didn’t ya. I have to give it to ya, what the fuck do you not know.” 

Akaashi actually laughs, okay he’s pushing it, it’s more like a startling chuckle, his not so rosy cheeks from sleep-deprivation expand and he covers his mouth from dare he assume ‘laughter’ spills from his lips. Then in an astronomical flash, what he just witnessed disappears. “You haven’t told Shouyou much, have you? He worries about you, too much, considering how much you don’t.” 

Atsumu snorts, and goes back to stirring away his half-empty cup. “Is this gonna turn into a lecture?” 

“Are you going to listen?” 

Akaashi has finished his hot chocolate and has moved on to his piping hot cinnamon-apple strudel, his mouth almost waters. Almost. 

“Probably not.” No hard feelings though he says. 

He sits in a coffee shop in downtown Shibuya, choking on the remaining droplets of lemon tea that tastes like a dirty towel Bokuto would leave in the locker room. He sits in absolute harmony, but acceptance comes first. You sit there, only five feet apart and Akaashi smiles, it’s bittersweet, God, he despises that look. Akaashi pities him and his howling stomach and buys him a strawberry-banana pastry, buys two and then three and insists he take the third one for Shouyou. He cares, too much, you ask yourself. Why? You also ask yourself. And God, who is baking a birthday cake that’s really meant for your retirement in your pink easy bake oven looks up while icing the frosting of your cake. 

He never replies, at the times when he needs the answer the most. 

*

Two days later, Shouyou ceremoniously decides to renovate his old guest room(their old guest room and formerly Atsumu’s extra room in his very humble two bedroom apartment still remaining in humble condition. Now, Atsumu didn’t not partake in the sporadic decision of a life-time, since he was once again not consulted in the million decisions that are assembled inside Shouyou’s brain. 

He is deemed unhelpful to Shouyou who is attempting to figure out how to open the paint bucket. “How come I wasn’t informed that you wanted to repaint the spare bedroom?” Atsumu asks, slumped against the nearest chair. 

Shouyou wears no shoes, paint brush hidden by his mass hysteria of what you can call hair, and an untriumphant look holding him back. After what feels like ten minutes, or an eternity, the minutes kinda tend to blur into one gigantic blob of waste. “You’re unhelpful.” 

“I can be very helpful.” 

Shouyou swivels around just to glare at him, scrutinizing, and fiddles around with the bucket once more and the lid pops off. “No you are not.” 

He doesn’t speak when his shoulder sultrily tears itself apart once again and offers Atsumu a quick tango and then proceeds to salsa dance out the window. The sunlight knocks outside their window and quietly asks to be let inside. Shouyou pushes the curtains and rays of sunlight hit his already golden silhouette. He inhales, in the most ordinary moments Atsumu dares to say that Shouyou is extraordinary. He carefully takes the camera in his mind and takes a stilling photo to capture the memory. In the most ordinary moments, Shouyou is humane and the least bit of ordinary shines through his eyes. 

The breeze will ruffle his hair, and glow will fill his eyes. This is not volleyball, but fuck, the feeling is similar. The jar of sentiment is overfilling with emotion but Atsumu suppresses. You will suppress yourself. Atsumu is everything ordinary, if ordinary dipped it’s tophat and told him that he was an angel. Then he would point to the boy in front and say that he’s wrong. It’s you. 

“Yellow.” 

Shouyou pauses from dipping his paintbrush to allow him the groundbreaking glance, there is no star inside of him but all rays of astronomical silence points in his direction. “Hmm?” 

“You should paint the walls yellow.” 

Groundbreaking astronomical silence won’t stop you, will it. And silence smiles at him, and the pain fades away, and he feels warmth all over again. 

*

Atsumu Miya is not invincible. He acknowledges his strengths, weaknesses. Even the strength he's blended together in one banana peanut butter smoothie cannot curate reality. Atsumu stopped being invincible the moment his shoulder decided to take a joyride on the main highway and stepped on the gas pedal to ram itself into a tree. Collateral damage spread through the rest of his body. He actually believed that he could maintain the pain, but it constantly broke through the chain that Atsumu tiredly worked to fortify from any intruders.

Shouyou admits his vulnerability, but Atsumu cannot. His body is stuck in an interminable coma and he's paralyzed. He couldn't be paralyzed with fear, that's not it. Then the chains break, after almost three months of his own vulnerability laid out of a silver platter, ready to be feasted on. And then, everything stops.

One day, a week later, you are crystallized in the depth of hubris. Hubris asks you to a slow dance, what you do impacts the moment, and you take it's hand. Then, Atsumu gets an intense taste of fire searing his shoulder, his humerus proceeds to shatter once and for all. All the bones and tendons in his arm decide to take a raincheck and Atsumu bits the inside of his lip, gnawing on the particular spot he's chosen to help endure the pain. Only this time, you're done.

Shouyou insists he make an emergency appointment, but he refuses. So Shouyou takes matters into his own hands and calls the doctor. He sits in the dark room, or maybe it was light, or was that Shouyou, matter infinitely deflates in his line of vision. They tell him a lot of things, only a few bother staying with him. How courteous. Atsumu is informed that the bones that'd been holding his shoulder together have finally been broken, his rotator cuff is torn. Shouyou intensely listens to the doctor while Atsumu pays attention to the stethoscope wrapped around her neck and asks if it's possible to shove it up his nose.

"Atsumu-san, you don't understand, this is quite serious. It's very likely that you won't be able to play ever again."

Shouyou steps outside to speak with the kind doctor that definitely didn't deserve Atsumu as the worst, shittiest patient. He doesn't even remember her name. Surgery, he hears her say. Leaning back not so carefully, he thinks of hubris and vanity and wonders if this is how the Cookie monster felt when Elmo stole his cookies. Probably not.

*

He accepts the surgery. Then what. You will be in a habitual state of self-worth, aching to get onto the court. Shouyou makes a big deal of it. The whole team already knows. Bokuto is actually the first to know, Sakusa follows him quickly soon later (exactly three hours, twenty-two minutes and four seconds later). Both make a last minute visit to his hospital room, and in a poor attempt to cheer him up, Bokuto brings flowers, perennials and swears there's some deep emotional metaphorical shit behind the flowers, which have been nearly left for dead under Bokuto's care.

Sakusa brings himself, and hand-sanitizer and a face mask, and himself. But in another poor attempt, and by poor he truly means it, he brings him an eye mask, like the ones the flight attendants offer you on a long flight to Las Vegas.

This isn't the end, they mention, delicately as if any mention of his shoulder will break and shatter his ego into a million pieces.

It's impeccable how the world believes that the world is ending, the orbital belief that Atsumu is done. You are wrong, he responds. But hubris thinks otherwise.

Three days later, Shouyou enters with the head doctor overseeing his surgery, somber glances play twister on Shouyou's jaw, taunt, he's holding something back.

"The surgery, it didn't work. The damage was too severe."

He sits back into his bed, relishing the only comfort of the soft hospital pillows, why couldn't their pillows at home be this comfortable? "Is that right." He echos.

*

Life goes on. But you don't. You see, you're stuck between the gray lines silhouetting the altar you used to worship. But now, Shouyou leaves two days a week to pray, leaving Atsumu behind. That was the volleyball court you used to circulate your everyday around. What's stopping you. The only person holding you back is you.

News spreads and gets tossed around fast. He has yet to announce his leave to his coach. In fact, he's avoiding it. Eventually, his brother texts him, he ignores that. His mother frantically emails him. He also ignores. Then she texts him and that stupefies Atsumu because his mother only texts for emergencies. Well when your son was driven to the hospital for a permanent shoulder injury and hasn't at all mentioned it to you not once he guesses it could qualify as a reason. Maybe. He scarcely responds to Shouyou texts. And it probably scares him to death.

Atsumu likes to live on the edge, that's already been addressed, but now he lives on the spectacular illusion of what exactly? He only moves around at most, five steps to travel around the room if needed. The living room becomes his new bedroom and Shouyou does not chide him when he opens the door to find Atsumu sleeping on the couch almost everyday.

Atsumu rediscovers Netflix. He watches Avatar the last air-bender and points out to himself that he'd probably be a fire bender to make himself feel better. Then when that consolation fails, he watches Titanic and invites Sakusa over while Shouyou picks up his medication from the pharmacist. Neither of them cry over Jack's death, he likes to pretend he could've sworn he saw a tear dribble down Sakusa's cheek only to quickly wipe it away. In a sense, he can relate to Jack, he's currently floating on a single panel of the door frame in the curdling temperature of the water, he can only stay above water before he lets Shouyou go, lets his shoulder go and drifts into eternity knowing, thinking he's done something good in his life.

Sakusa calls him dumb, and stupid, and then cleans up the place because Atsumu hasn't bother to throw away all the take-out containers in days. Where will Atsumu go next? That he cannot tell you, because even he doesn't know himself.

*

He learns how to knit, even knits Shouyou an ugly yellow sweater with uneven sleeves and a wide neck. Shouyou stares at it with uncertainty and he understands and tells him that he doesn't have to take it, but Shouyou refuses to give it back and tells him he likes it. No you don't, it's the worst fucking sweater you've ever seen.

It's not retirement, he tells himself, it's a permanent leave. He will return one day, and take the world, sweep the audience underneath the metaphorical rug because the court is made of synthetic urethane. A month ago, way past due, he marched down to the administrator's office of the Black Jackals and announces the situation. Coach Foster also announces that Shouyou kindly explained to him what happened. You will always have a place on this team, and that never will change, he says, clapping Atsumu’s back gingerly. 

You leave twenty minutes later, Shouyou picks you up and drives you both home, he smells like warmth and buckwheat noodles. Atsumu gets hungry, hence his stomach begins to growl. Then his stomach stops growling when he tells Shouyou he's going to get into the shower. And politely asks him not to join him.

He takes a bath. Filling the bathtub with ice-cold water and does not hesitate to get in. He is Jack from Titanic, floating in the small atmospheric bubbles he's built. Atsumu does not drown, and barely considers the thought.

A knock on the bathroom door, and Shouyou silently undresses and Atsumu waits for him as he makes room in the not very bathtub. You do not reach for him, he is unreachable. You sit in the bathtub of cold water and manifest the wellness of Jack. You wonder if Jack likes spicy tuna, if he would like Shouyou. He rests his shoulder on the shit-slapping cold rim of the bathtub. Nothing happens. You didn't ask for this, but you get it anyway. Hunger carves a forty-five word letter into your stomach and drowns you just like Jack.

Shouyou, do you regret it. He asks.

*

No, I don't.

*

Shouyou wears the ugly yellow sweater. Life goes on, for 120 hours until he remembers his Osamu's wedding, the fact that he hasn't replied to his mother's email, or texts. His brother's wedding is in two days from now, he hasn't packed. Barely told Shouyou about the wedding.

He finds Shouyou in the guest/make-shift study/work-out room he won't use, and tells him. Shouyou's eyes dilate, he pushes away from his laptop, closing the screen to hide the Holiday Baking Championship tab that Atsumu already knows about. "Osamu-san called me."

Steepling his fingers, he hisses, Shouyou stares at him like he just told him that volleyball is just a really intense version of "don't let the balloon touch the floor".

"Did he now?"

Shouyou presses his lips together, almost like a fish. But you erase that thought from your mind because that's not very nice. "Your brother's wedding is in two days, it's a few hours to Hyogo, we'll leave tomorrow."

Atsumu frowns, that's it? No bitter words preaching how Atsumu shouldn't have hidden it from him, which was _not_ his intention. "Yer not mad?"

Shouyou shakes his head, wavering lips of sheer predicament and strength loosening. "No I'm not." Oh. OH.

That's good. Shouyou helps him pack, suggests he sleep in their bed, the couch isn't good for his shoulder he claims. He seems almost hesitant, and Atsumu cracks into little puzzle pieces and not even Atsumu learns how to put it back into the delusional picture of perfection.

He lets Shouyou choose a movie to watch, and falls asleep on his non-shattered shoulder and waits for him until his eyes dance it's last charade and collapse into a deep slumber. Capture the moment before it vanishes, you savor and tuck the cow-licked strands shielding Shouyou's eyes. You take it back. In the most extraordinary, the boy lifting your burden from your torn shoulder, holding you up like a marionette doll, limbs and socket out of place, jaunted and unfastened by the strings that heave you up. In the most extraordinary way, Shouyou is an ordinary person, just like Atsumu.

Ah, so this is what catharsis feels like.

*

They leave later than anticipated. Atsumu wakes up at noon, Shouyou wakes up soon after, having completely forgotten the alarm he set for the early morning. Atsumu rises from the bed, feels compelled to stir awake Shouyou, chooses not to and begins to press several buttons on their new coffee machine that Akaashi bought for them upon Atsumu's post-hospitalization. He abandons the machine and pours himself a glass of water.

Shouyou wakes up ten minutes later and almost lands face first on the kitchen counter. "Why aren't you dressed, we were supposed to be on the road two hours ago?"

Atsumu waits in the car while Shouyou hastily throws their bags into Shouyou's soccer mom-don't-eat-in-the-van-and-have-fun car, that could totally pass for an unmarked vehicle for a getaway abduction. He mentions this to Shouyou, "It's my mother's old Toyota Sienna."

You didn't have to tell me that, I could tell just by looking at the car Shouyou, he says. Shouyou sticks his tongue out and turns on the ignition. Hence begins their very late six hour road trip to Hyogo.

Shouyou sets a pillow to rest his shoulder against and Atsumu comfortably snuggles up in the passenger seat. "So." Shouyou taps his finger rhythmically to the scooby doo theme song. "What's Hyogo like?"

"Small town. Unless you visit the city parts, then it’s a small city."

Scooby doo and the mystery machine gets held on paused on Shouyou's fingers, "Do you miss your hometown?" Shouyou's ability or lack of ability to create small talk has always been weak.

"Nah, not really. Nothing worth missin'."

"Oh."

"Shouyou." He turns, hopeful for another tear in Atsumu's miserable life.

"You just missed our turn."

*

An hour and a half later, Shouyou cranks up the radio, turning the old knobs belonging to the radio system of the very old suburban. Taylor Swift begins to play, and Shouyou rapidly beats his palm against the steering wheel to himself, pretending to know the lyrics, he mutters the English words in the song that are too heavy for his tongue. He's not the one who failed his English class in high school. Well he almost did, if it wasn't for Kita-san's study sessions to tutor the shit out of him.

"Stop pretending like you know the lyrics."

Shouyou delivers a swift side-eye roll before returning his attention to the road. "I know the lyrics."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do." Then. Just like that, the conversation dies fast. He readjusts his shoulder and stares out the window. The highway is growing deserted as they begin to just exit out of the city, only over four hours left.

He passes by cows, and nearly calls them horses. Then he nudges Shouyou from his attentive focus to the road to tell him that they're horses. Shouyou turns up Taylor Swift. There's his answer. He rolls the window down, which surprisingly wasn't on child lock. Sticking his head out he tastes the breeze, and whips his very musty hair in the wind. He convinces Shouyou to open the square roof and turns up Taylor Swift on full volume.

"How are you doing?" Shouyou suddenly asks.

"Shouyou, cut the small talk. Ya suck at it."

Shouyou squirms uncomfortably from the driver's seat, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, so he doesn't look and feel like a complete asshole, he kindly adds, "I'm doin' fine."

He brightens a bit, but to the bare minimum, like someone told him that the world was going to end, but he'd be the last to die, if the world was ending Atsumu would be the first to die. No. Wait, that would be Bokuto. Second, then. Unless Bokuto grew more brain cells and turned off that aloof personality and swapped it for more brain cells. Unlikely in the non-near future scenario.

"Good. Good." Shouyou replies. He slides his sunglasses on, and puts on Usher. Usher raps in the background of the afternoon sun and Shouyou absolutely glistens, Atsumu suffers. This time it's not his shoulder, but it's someplace else.

He kinda wished they stuck to Taylor Swift, but he decided to shake it off. Pun intended. You relish in Usher instead, witnessing Shouyou slightly smile as he drives and Atsumu thinks that maybe everything will be fine.

*

Shouyou almost bumps into the rear end of the Mercedes-Benz in front of them. He's zoning off, but also trying extremely hard not to put his hand off the wheel and roll the window all the way down and stick his head out. If Atsumu's shoulder wasn't so, busted up and broken Atsumu would gladly take the wheel and they would ride off into the sunset and gushing rainbows and lollipops would jump into the horizon as they sped away.

Atsumu's neck starts to hurt, he flips towards the opposite direction, forcing him to face Shouyou. Atsumu breathes in that blueberry shampoo that he hates so much and wonders if this is where he belonged. "Hey." he says, softly, after a while.

Shouyou's palms dig into the steering wheel and he bites his tongue against asking him what the car did to him. But in hindsight, there's probably hundreds and thousands and millions memories that camped out and signed the leasing form in this car, despite the patchy leather that's been scratching at Atsumu's butt for the past hour and the armrest that not in any shape, way or form is resting Atsumu's arm(the one with the busted up shoulder).

Shouyou's palms unfurl tightly around the bridge of the wheel, but all Atusmu can see are wings that begin to unfurl above the heavenly skies and you look in the mirror and Perseus brutally murders you, you see Shouyou and wonder what it would be like to be free. Is that the face of a monster? No, Perseus says, it's the face of a man who was once human.

Your shoulder aches and you are reminded of the present time and Shouyou simply replies, "hey."

"So how's yer family, you haven't talked to them in a while." God, the pot calling the kettle black, he's a terrible hypocrite. Small talk much? But Shouyou seems amused, and even delighted to answer and make fun of Atsumu.

"I haven't spoken to my mother in a few weeks but Natsu visits once a week on the weekends when she's not in school." He's only met his younger sister once or twice when she came to their games, she was similar to Shouyou, a play-dough ball of tangerine on steroids. She also seems to know way too much about Atsumu.

The curve of a smile, it's not his. "Is it hard, not seein' them all the time?"

Shouyou takes his eyes off the road for a strangling second and Atsumu's heartstrings tug a lullaby of classic rock on the electric guitar. "I miss them, but they know I'm in good hands." He smiles, and that's when his heart goes cracking all over the carpeted floor of the suburban.

"I assume that's me."

"No, Bokuto."

Atsumu smirks, relaxing his arm over the supportive armrest, he lets himself sink into the leather plush car seat. Does he have your attention yet? You're not the only one entranced and sunken into the world of dainty shadows and chipped teeth.

*

They stop at a rest stop somewhere along the highway, once Shouyou confirms it isn't abandoned or haunted by unruly ghosts hungry for revenge Shouyou sprints inside to go to the bathroom and get the necessities. Apparently, according to him those were Seaweed Rice Crackers that tasted like sawdust and a box of peanuts. "You never said you wanted anything." Shouyou argues when Atsumu asks him for his box of sawdust crackers.

"Fine, I'll just eat the pocky's we have in the back of the car." He says, searching for the box behind his seat and pops one into his mouth

Shouyou greedily bites into a peanut. "But you hate the Matcha Green Tea flavored pocky's."

The twitch of an eye, "They're..." he searches for the right word but is too occupied with the bitter taste that grows a garden of weeds on his tongue and he tries to scrap the field of dead flowers away. "Nice."

"I enjoy seeing you struggle and in pain."

Atsumu breaks into a lilting smile, hiding the disgusting taste of pocky still residing in his mouth. "I never took you for a masochist Shouyou."

"I never took you for a liar."

"Okay. That's fair. But rude." He hears Shouyou whisper 'crybaby' and turns on the ignition.

Would if in another century, you are young, naive and foolish. Would you still fall for the entrancing shelter that Shouyou builds for you, for you and every other person that walks into Shouyou's life. When you are christened as a fool and not a fallen hero. Then maybe the burden wouldn't tragically fall so heavy on your shoulders.

You like to think if things had gone differently, if you weren't born in a time of such radiating sunlight and meteoric panic and hysteria. Shouyou, you will ask. How does it feel to be you? He will not reply but the sun shines brighter and four corners leer from the reeling nagaviation of hope. 

Before he can stop himself, the bag of Matcha Green Tea flavored pocky’s empty themself and Atsumu really hates it here. 

*

"Your father." Shouyou begins. Atsumu fiddles with the broken compartment storing old mail and junk, overly captivated to listen to the sound plastic slapping the exterior of the drawer. "You never mention him."

"Have I not?"

"Never. Not even I asked you about Hyogo. There's someone worth waiting for there, your mother. But not your father."

They've officially arrived in the country side of Hyogo, fewer cars drive by them on their side of the road and peace pulls the hair out of it's head in frustration upon realizing that Atsumu will never know peace. It's a shame, because in another life, maybe they could've been great friends.

"There's nothing worth waiting for in Hyogo. Except for maybe 'Samu, but he's gettin' married."

"Your father—"

He interrupts him, slamming the compartment drawer after losing interest. "Don't. Don't say what yer about to say."

Atsumu lies in wake for the next hours, it's the evening when the sunset gently tousles Shouyou's hair and his eyes become a sight for sore eyes, Atsumu's. Only Atsumu turns the other way and watches the sun die behind the horizon that sets a fiery line between grace and humility.

"Okay." Shouyou finally says and returns to complete concentration of the road and Shouyou finally digs out his earbuds and plays Mozart and shuts his eyes close.

Let me know when you actually believe everything is going fine. Fuck off, you snap back, you will be alright. Shouyou will be alright.

*

The rest of the road trip is embellished by the peaceful climate of the night that arises once the moon waves down at their suburban van and cheerfully waves him out of the light. Atsumu shudders, beckoning away from the frosted glass chilling the windows but that means facing Shouyou. Shouyou, who is dressed in fatigue and drowsiness but maintains the regality, pent up into bouncing his left leg against the bottom of the dashboard.

Then an hour later, as they begin to drive back into the main city of Hyogo, driving away from the country farms and sleeping cows, Shouyou pulls up the address of the hotel where the venue had been rented from. Osamu-san sent it to me, Shouyou explains; "Does 'Samu not trust me?" he asks, and Shouyou haughtily laughs.

"Definitely not."

The drive to the hotel is short and quick. But the time they pull into the front of the hotel and Shouyou opens the car door to confirm their reservation under the Miya family name, Atsumu stays in the car and guards their belongings, but also the hidden stash of Daifuku he's been hiding under his car seat.

Shouyou comes back outside minutes later, room keys in one hand and a hotel dolly cart in the other. Atsumu tries to be of some use but mostly ogles the expensive exterior of the hotel. Where the hell did Osamu get the money to afford this? His onigiri business couldn't have paid for all of this? But then again, he's always been the better twin when it came to financial management.

The interior is opulent in riches and soaked in karat gold, okay that was an exaggeration but this place was fancy. Shouyou's eyes escape him and reach out with its hands and feel the need to awe and marvel over every piece of furniture sight that's worth more than their rent.

"Come on, let's go find our room."

They ride the elevator, pristine and clear and that gives them a perfect full circle view of the downstairs plaza. The route to their hotel room is easy. But the silence is deafening and that part is complicated.

Shouyou unloads, Atsumu flops into bed. Then Shouyou flips up the satin covers that Atsumu could steal and substitute to wipe his ass with and steal on Ebay and become the next Bill Gates aside and joins him. The lights are turned off, and then here are the most majestic, fast moments that flash by him and he has no time to quickly take out the camera and take as many photos as he can.

"When you're ready, you can tell me." Shouyou says, basking in the moon and darkness pouring into their room.

"There's nothing to be said."

Shouyou rolls over, "Okay." You can't end there. Your story has not reached it's climatic reach, you can reach even higher.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

*

Atsumu thinks about the drug cartel. He meticulously plans his whole life out. With or without becoming an illegal drug carrier, he had a plan. A plan involving Thomas the tank engine opening his big caboot and letting Atsumu honk the train horn and becoming the conductor of his life. But then God with his big fist crushes Thomas the tank engine and they mourn instead.

He was doing to devour the absolute offspring of God and then rent out a tow truck and tow everyone in his path. Because that's what tow trucks do, even if you aren't the damn fire lane. He's been withholding a few petty injustices regarding his past life. But he's been taken by Thomas the tank engine and is reincarnated into a platypus. Then, if Shouyou were to fully be able to stand on the stilts to lend a helping hand of victorious heights he would give a blind eye to Atsumu and view the world from the summit.

The real question is who's story is it really? Which story is God supposed to pick from the library, and think 'I want to tell this story'. But because Shouyou's peripheral vision confines him to the endless keepsake of the summit. You are not the chosen one, he thinks. Your story's ending has come.

But what happened to the holy convergence that threaded the chronological illustration that was once his story? Then the three sisters of fate sit on the leather cushions from across your hotel room and Atropos shakes her head in dismay and cuts the thread. Atsumu gets the answer he's been waiting for.

*

They both wake up early. Shouyou takes the initiative of doing downstairs to grab coffee from the free dispensers downstairs in the lobby. He also brings an everything bagel and cream cheese, yer breathe is gonna smell like ass he warns. Shouyou brushes his teeth. Twice. Atsumu pops fresh minty cold green gum into his mouth for extra measure.

The drive to his family home is nostalgic, but trickles down his throat and fucking hates it. Isn't nostalgia supposed to nurture you until your wings can take flight? You know what, fuck nostalgia. The Miya family home is on the teetering outskirts of Hyogo and the hotel Osamu rented is in the center of the bustling hometown. He remembers walking down the streets after practice, the hot summer heat scalding the back of his throat, Kita pushing a chilled bottle of Pocari in his hand, a storm rages on. It was very hot that afternoon indeed.

"Pull in here." He says, waving to the right turn that begins to diverge into a series of different roads. Soon, the three level rustic modern Miya house is rediscovered from the trees and bushes his mother cannot manage to keep tidy, despite Atsumu insisting she hire a gardener.

When his home combs itself out of the nature blocking its way, his heart runs off the 10-feet platform and performs a somersault off the board. The world claps but Atsumu resonates in silence. "We're here." Shouyou is in jitters, as he sloppily turns off the ignition.

He doesn't tell it's going to be okay, that he will be there by his side at all times. That's already a given. And that would ruin the mood of beguiling silence.

The two unsymmetrical window paneled doors cut into four shapes and plastered on wood. Innovation calls it a door, but Atsumu calls it crap. A woman opens the door, brown hair swept into an unkempt bun. "Atsumu."

"Mom."

Shouyou straggles behind and his mother looks past Atsumu's shoulder, as he slowly steps forward onto the wooden patio. "You must be Hinata-kun I assume, my son has barely told me anything about you." Glee materializes across her lips and Shouyou is startled.

"MOM."

"It's nice to officially meet you Hinata-kun." She widens the door, birthed in excellence and acceptance, his mother is forgiving. Sometimes. "Come inside."

*

The house is nearly the same condition as it was when he left years ago and traded sunny, isolated Hyogo for the bustling and lively city of Shibuya. The old fox fixtures harbor and guard at the doorstep, he wonders some days, when he's not starving in the name of the vicarious sport he's laid his life for and has now paid the price. Dad is that you? Don't be fucking dumbass 'Tsumu, those are just some cheap garden crap Mom bought to make the house all aesthetically pleasing and shit, Osamu would say. Note at this age, the cumbering and cool age of thirteen, where Osamu is an awkward kid with gangly limbs and a fake hair dye job. Bruised knees that buckle because they aren't able to hold themselves on their own, but the pain is rewarding to a thirteen year old.

He crosses path with the empty wall, covered in beige paint repeatedly after Atsumu's accidental mishaps involving a bat and a certain girl he wanted to impress. He extends a hand, will the memories come flooding in and shake Atsumu awake and beg him to accept them— both the good and the bad?

Shouyou wanders a little too far, and travels through the collage of photographs taken from the older years and more kind memories Atsumu cradles below his diaphragm. "Your brother's been waiting for you Atsumu."

As promised, Osamu stands pacing in the living room, phone pressed against his ear as he's very angrily yelling at someone on the phone. "Can I at least get the refund? This is the worst fuckin' customer service, I’m gonna report you to yer manager." Osamu swears, and Atsumu has to inhale an oncoming snort so he doesn't catch his mother's attention.

"Wedding troubles?"

Osamu shoves his phone into his back pocket and dull gray eyes swarm him for a moment before the eighteen year old once careful and boring as hell brother he once knew returns and they meet halfway.

Shouyou stumbles close, trailing close behind. "Shouyou-kun." They have a staring contest that lasts about ten seconds. "So ya brought him. Guess yer not as big of a wuss as I thought ya were." He directs that part at Atsumu and Shouyou breaks his concentration, still maintaining eye contact with Osamu.

"What?" 

His mother seats them in the living room. She leaves, and soon returns with glasses of water. “You must be thirsty, all that traveling isn’t good for you.” She stares at Atsumu while saying that. 

Shouyou swiftly picks up, “Ah, it was fine. I’m used to long distance travel.” 

His mother scrutinizes, and chooses not to say whatever is desperate to puke out from her mind, “I heard you play with Atsumu on the Black Jackals.” Atsumu shifts and his mother corrects herself. “You played with him on the Black Jackals. Tell me, was that boy any good, I wasn’t allowed to come to any of his games. I’m starting to believe you were terrible and didn’t want to break your poor mother’s heart.” 

Atsumu groans. The need to bash his head into the closest wall and create a new dent for the scrapbook memories become surreal. Shouyou smiles. The type of smile you offer your future mother in law, and then proceed to tell her about your million dollar inheritance and how you go out on your yacht during the weekends when you're not donating thousands of dollars to an orphanage or saving the world by putting your recycling into the correct trash bin. 

“He was alright.” 

“Shouyou!”

He then adds, “he was sort of bossy,” Shouyou thoughtfully adds like he’s adding his last minute insights to a science lab reflection. 

Osamu snorts. And then a screaming match between Atsumu and Osamu begins. Mostly about how terrible Atsumu’s hair still is. And also how he can't take care of himself. Both are correct. And no he does not tell Osamu that. 

“Hinata-kun, accompany me around the house, there are some embarrassing photos of Atsumu I’m sure you would love to see.” 

Shouyou stands up. Brightness fills the room and Atsumu is the only one ducking down to shield himself from the blindness. “It would be my pleasure.” 

*

Atsumu yells at Osamu for a little bit longer, remembers he doesn't want to get his best man rights revoked and helps him cook onigiri for the wedding reception. He doesn't have the exact grace and eloquence as Osamu when it comes to smashing balls of rice into neat little triangles and Osamu drinks in the weakness.

"You're shit at this."

"But you are a piece of shit." Atsumu quips back, rolling his sleeves as sticky rice clings to his arms.

"Grow up dumbass."

"Fuck you 'Samu."

"Fuck you too."

They continue working, having sputtered their final words and knocking heads. Atsumu hides the rice ball behind his back so he doesn't impulsively throw it at Osamu's face. He continues to struggle, and Osamu continues to proliferate. Atsumu wants to stab him with a chopstick. Osamu wants to get married. Very similar goals.

"So. Where's the unlucky bride-to-be that you paid to marry you." Atsumu looks around, in case Osamu plans a flash mob and the girl pops up from behind the couch and a whole group is going to flood into the house and start dancing to Kesha.

Osamu wrinkles his nose, probably plugging his nostrils from any more brain cells entering his brain. "She's spending time with her family. She thought it’d be best if we didn’t see each other ‘till the weddin’ ceremony.”

Atsumu twitches. “Gross. But sweet.” 

“‘Tsumu, go find Shouyou-kun before Mom exposes our childhood and she’ll tell him about the time ya peed yerself shitless when ya got stung by a bee.” Osamu shoos him away and Atsumu takes it as a sign from the orders of heaven that his services are not needed anymore. 

He gives him the finger, Osamu gives it back. Oh, brotherly love at its finest. 

Making a beeline out of the kitchen, he passes the living room, but stops. His mother is pointing to something out of his line of vision. Then his heart tries to run a marathon and burns itself out. Shouyou stands close beside, peering closely. The photo surrounded by wood, glass bounces back and forth on the tan against Shouyou's neck, and Atsumu—The photo was from years ago, featuring a younger Atsumu, and Osamu who's two front teeth were knocked out prior to the photo when Atsumu wiggled his teeth and accidentally flung them across the room. Whether or not it was intentional or on purpose remains unknown. Atsumu plays along, and hides behind the wall.

His father's smile, full of teeth and remarkable memory. His mother alongside him, drowning in radiating sunlight bursting from the roof and dancing on their backs. Osamu's grip on Atsumu was fastened, Atsumu's eye was red. Has nostalgia hit you yet, did it hit you from behind and change your life forever like cancer did to your father? That's not fair, Atsumu bites back.

Life's not fair, his father replied back, and smiles sadly.

"It almost felt like yesterday. When this photo was taken." His mother speaks wistfully.

"Atsumu looks different, maybe it's the hair." Shouyou laughs, lovely and freely without the suppressing release against his lungs. Did Atsumu feel that way at some point of time too?

"His hair is revolting. I don't know how you can stand it."

"It's hard. But I suppose there are other parts of him I can appreciate."

A hum, his mother runs her hand along the side of the frame. Where his father was standing.

"Is that Atsumu's father?" A nod. "Atsumu hasn't told me much about him."

His mother looks up, smirking despite everything. "That brat. Of course he hasn't, he wasn't as close to his father as Osamu was."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Shouyou says softly, and it's like Shouyou took a sledgehammer and cracked his rib cage open and ripped Atsumu's chest out.

But this mother exhales and sets down the frame, lingering for a moment too long. "How is he? Atsumu."

"Strong. Resilient. A little lost."

"Do me a favor Shouyou."

"Of course anything." Shouyou replies back, a bit too fast, a bit too eager.

"Help Atsumu find himself again."

*

Atsumu is unofficially chosen to be the groom's supervisor/babysitter/therapist, and he really wants his paycheck because this is out of his non-existent pay grade. Osamu sits back, smoking a candy cigarette, pretending like he's not getting married in a few hours. Atsumu sneaks a few pieces of rock solid chocolate from the glass vase that's definitely just for decoration.

The pieces of chocolate almost break his teeth. He enjoys it. And then wishes for real food. "'Samu, we don't have all day."

Osamu's mouth irks up in annoyance and waves the candy cigarette around. "Lemme live my last moments as a young, handsome bachelor."

"Yer neither, and stop pretendin' to smoke a cigarette."

Osamu tilts his head back, putting the candy cigarette down. "Can ya believe it, in a few hours I'll be married." Then a tinsy winsy smirk emerges from his lips, and it's like the old days. "And I'll be delivering your eulogy to yer funeral."

"A flair for the dramatic old man."

"Says the guy with the damaged shoulder."

Atsumu shrugs. Osamu decides it's best to stick the candy cigarette back in his mouth. Moments pass. Atsumu doesn't cry. This is not joyous for either of them. God dismantles and broadcasts this on the jumbo-trons of the astronomical life of the 'Miya Twins' and the world watches, waiting.

"Hey 'Samu."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, ya know. For everything."

Osamu hands him the very sweet cigarette. Atsumu dwells in the abiding moment that crashes his rib cage, and wonders what would happen if he flicked a lighter onto the cigarette.

*

The wedding is very Osamu. Not too simplistic, but not too detailed and elaborate that Atsumu's eyes would gaze over the pattern of the table cloth. He was right, the wedding was small, around fifty, maybe hundred people. He's not sure. He started losing track after a while. The wedding ceremony was enjoyable however. Most of his family from his mother's side came, his aunt also stopped by for the wedding reception.

He meets the bride to be, who is not a paid bride he bought from craigslist. Her name is Ayame, she has short bronze hair that cuts off right above her shoulders. She's two inches taller than Osamu, soft-spoken, laughs at your joke and owns her own dentistry office across from the streets of where you went to high school.

She seems sweet and he really wants to ask her how the fuck she fell for a dipshit like his brother, but it's not the best time so he refrains himself and claps when they're announced as newlyweds. His brother is grinning like crazy, laughing with guests. She clings to her arm, lightly laughs with reserve and poise, and with manners which is a technique Atsumu could never master.

"Atsumu. You clean up nicely."

Shouyou stands at the edge of the dance floor, battered and bruised in the gold that King Midas touches and the tacky blue and purple disco lights Osamu probably purchased on amazon for cheap. Scratch that. He's seen those before. He bought these off of amazon.

Atsumu tampers with his tie, and says, "I could say the same for you." In the glorious moments of desperation he adds:

“You wanna dance?"

Shouyou takes a step forward and the lights change to red as the dance floor grows crowded. Here in the sea of monsters, he is the only one that stands out and Atsumu grabs his hand before his chance runs out and tugs him close. Atsumu has never danced before. He does not have a dancer's aura or whatever the fuck you call it. He is clumsy as hell. But Shouyou is always on his feet, the tip of his toes off the ground, ready to take off and leave Atsumu.

Atsumu feels the need to make conversation. "Have ya ever danced before? Yer not so terrible."

Shouyou clasps his hand in a fleeting moment that they might be joining hands together to call the devil. "Nothing too serious. But you, you're terrible. Do you not know how to slow dance?"

"And if I say no?"

Shouyou huffs an adorable laugh, or at least he thinks so. Shouyou moves even closer, and he can practically taste the chocolate cake. You let Shouyou lead you into an abysmal of betrayal. Betrayal of your self-promise. Betrayal to the sacred whispers to your shoulder. They dance until their feet get sore. "Hey. About your father."

Don't. "Shouyou."

"Atsumu. Wait. I know you don't want to talk about him now. But if he were here today and witnessed what you've become I think he'd be very proud."

Self-salvation has arrived and you greedily open the box to find Shouyou inside. He clings to him, and doesn't even think twice about letting him go. You made that mistake seven years ago and you won't do it again.

*

He sits in contemplation. Would if one day, a paralyzed man confined to a wheelchair had been given the ability to walk, where would he go? Would he travel the paths taken, cross across the bridge linking humanity and freedom across Orion’s belt. Atsumu contemplates. His favorite past-time activity. Atsumu believes that God chose him for reason, whether it was for a good laugh to look down on earth and pinpoint a victim of his foul play. Or did Atsumu's greed of the world lead to his downfall? He'll learn the truth one day.

Today, he sits in contemplation besides Shouyou whose only concern is which horror movie won't give him nightmares. Hazel curls up to the right of Atsumu, snuggled surprisingly close. It's alright Shouyou, we all have our nightmares. You also want to say, it's alright Shouyou, comfort me when I have my bad days and when my shoulder spins around the hamster ball and goes round and round. Be there for me when I don't want anyone else but you.

"The Eiffel Tower can be up to fifteen centimeters taller during the summer." Shouyou announces.

Atsumu makes a noise that comes across as 'please don't tell me anymore' and 'tell me more'. Choose one. "Interesting. And how is this relevant."

Shouyou loops his arm around his neck, "Summer is the best time for traveling, because of the off season." he trails off. Oh. He thinks. It's happening.

"Shouyou, are you asking me to come with you to Paris?" Atsumu asks and Shouyou shoves him, but just enough that his shoulder doesn't clinch him tight and allows his body to function normally. But you're still in pain right?

"Maybe."

Ah. So this is what falling in love feels like.

*

There will be days, in which Thomas the tank engine visits you in your hospital bed, cradling your shoulder from the demons and the bad days ahead of you. But in the moment that matters the most, if Shouyou is in an arm's length then perhaps you will be fine. You will not be perfect, perfect is reserved in a corner for God but you laugh because sometimes even God isn't perfect. You will all have your off days when you hold yourself into despicable commotion and wish that you didn't exist. But when Shouyou grabs the nearest shovel and starts digging he will unearth the layers between you.

Atsumu contemplates. God finally delivers your birthday cake up close and personal. Acceptance comes first and it doesn't matter what comes next. Because you are here and when your shoulders beat you first to retirement, you will thank yourself.

You will learn a little about yourself everyday and maybe God will be a little more forgiving.

*

Who are you, God asks one day. Somebody, you reply. And your story never ends.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here we are at the end. barbecue sauce on my titties and i have a lot of say. Firstly, this story was long. Very long, the longest fic I've written, and I wrote it in almost 2 weeks. With lots word sprints. the inspiration behind this fic is elmo's injury fic-- and, i, a six winged angel. that is where my mind went clubbing, took several shots of tequila and woke up in a fever dream and the urge to write this. I love atsumu. in some ways this is my love apology and love letter to him. 
> 
> As an athlete I could deeply relate to atsumu in terms of injury as I play volleyball and therefore you are bound to get hurt. I didn't wanna write an injury fic where he immediately gets hurt, i wanted to ease into it like a ticking time bomb waiting to be set off. And when it did, I wanted to show the aftermath and how it affected other's around him. I love atsumu miya but I didn't want to hurt him, i wouldn't call this angst, it's more of an awakening. awakening to atsumu miya and hinata. this could also pass as a miya bro centric fic oops. I wanted to show the more tender, accident prone sides of atsumu while him still being strong by myself. 
> 
> This is not your typical injury fic oop... I wanted to also incorporate the side plot of Osamu.. he's a very important character and i seem to have an addiction of writing heart to heart conversations when it comes to them. sorry not sorry. I wanted to show the family side of his life, his past, his father which was briefly mentioned in 'nothing gold can stay'. I had a lot of fun writing this. a lot of fun, and so at the end of the road, if you liked this fic please let me know and indulge me by commenting. I would love hear ur input. getting comments keep me motivated and i love reading them. Title is mirror, by Sylvia Path! 
> 
> so leave a comment/kudos/bookmarked if you enjoyed this one hell of a fic!! 
> 
> Follow me on my main for more atsuhina updates: @sarahartzzz or follow me on my writing twt: @atsuhinass_


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